I Have a Fan, Too?
by Metroprincess
Summary: Follows the events of IcePrincess Deluxe's When Fans Attack 2. Bobby Drake has a fan...
1. Viva la Tequila!

Disclaimer: Marvel owns 'em, and I know Bobby's not real.  This is just for FUN, people...so review and let me know what you think.

  
Setting: A residential neighborhood slightly north of New York City, immediately after the events in Ice Princess Deluxe's When Fans Attack 2.

The metallic-gray Miata zipped through the darkened streets, illuminated in flashes by the overhead streetlights.  The two occupants were silent- the driver concentrating on the road, the passenger concentrating on the driver.  Then, the passenger spoke over the low hum of the car's engine and the wheels on pavement.  "I feel like I'm abandoning my teammates or something.  You sure we shouldn't go back for them?"

The girl in the driver's seat lifted a hand from the gearshift of the car and patted him on the knee.  "Bobby, tell me something.  Do you really feel like you need rescuing?"  She slid her hand further up his leg as she waited for his answer, and smiled innocently as he wiggled and choked out a negative response.  Dropping her hand back on the gearshift, she turned the car down a quiet street lined with houses.  She parked the car in the driveway of a small cottage with a postage-stamp lawn and motioned for Bobby to stay in the car for a moment.  She stood and looked around the front yard for a moment, then leaned into the car.  "You can get out now.  You're safe."

"So says the woman who just kidnapped me."

"I didn't see you protesting.  I can take you back to your bed at the mansion if you'd like.  Your _single, solitary, lonely_ bed.  Or, alternately, we can go inside and have some of those margaritas I mentioned."

"Well, you know...Viva tequila!"  She grinned at him, then stepped onto the porch and unlocked the door.  In a swift flurry of motion, she shrugged out of her coat and hung it and her keys on a peg, then pulled out a small velvet covered book and fanned it open. 

"Would you mind?  Sort of as a consolation prize to the rest of your fans over at Fan Central?  I was supposed to take you there, but I thought this might be a bit less alarming for you. Not to mention more fun for me."  She smirked and gave him a suggestive once-over, then walked down a hall and into the kitchen, kicking off her sandals as she went.  Bobby followed her into the kitchen and grabbed a seat on one of the breakfast bar stools.  She dropped the book on the bar in front of him along with a pen, then turned and opened the refrigerator.  She stared into the fridge for a few minutes before straightening and turning back to him.  

"You want anything to eat?  I know you guys stopped at the diner, but...Lydia was giving us a damn play-by-play, and she didn't mention ya'll ordering anything."

"Uh, yeah...she was scary."

"So we noticed.  She was also stupid, but we won't go into that now.  She's going to be suitably punished, no worries."

"Suitably punished?  Don't, like, hurt her or anything."  Bobby looked at his hospitable kidnapper appraisingly.  She didn't **look** dangerous.  Of course, none of them had looked like they could organize the kidnappings of several mutant superheroes.  Obviously, in this scenario, looks could be deceiving.  But really, who carried out kidnapping plots in leather pants, strappy sandals, and tiny tank tops?

"Suitably punished means she has to act like a Jean fan."  She grinned evilly at his visible wince.  "Hair dye and all.  And if someone REALLY pisses us off...drag out the skull earring and the big pants."  He reddened, and she leaned across the bar to rub the back of his hand.  "But let's not talk about that.  You want food, or not?"   

"Uh, yeah...that'd be great.  You need any help?"  He stood, then stopped.  "What?  I'm not allowed to help?"

"No, it's not...It's just...I dunno.  I wasn't expecting any help.  Besides, I cook for a living.  I think I can handle finding you some leftovers."  She had the grace to look mildly abashed before she leaned into the fridge and pulled out a Gladware container.  She stood up and tossed it across the kitchen island to Bobby.  "Tamales.  Made 'em today at work.  Good stuff, if you're into Mexican."

"I'm into edible.  And Twinkies.  Got any Twinkies?"  He opened the container and dropped the tamales on the plate that seemed to have magically appeared on the island countertop, then grinned when one of the indestructible pastries landed beside the plate.

"Microwave's in that cabinet if you want that warmed up.  I'll be right back.  Gotta get the liquor if we're gonna have margaritas."  She left Bobby staring helplessly at the complicated microwave controls.  He was still staring when she reentered the kitchen and placed three bottles on the counter.  

"How is it that I can operate Shi'ar technology and I can fly the Blackbird, but a microwave has me beat?"  He rubbed the side of his head and watched expectantly as she punched buttons and started warming the food.  While it spun around on the microwave turntable, she opened a cabinet and pulled down two large margarita glasses, a saucer, and a flat container of kosher salt, which she set on the countertop beside the bottle of Curacao.  She tipped the tequila bottle over and poured a tiny bit onto the saucer, then dipped the rims of the glasses first in the liquor and then in the container of salt.  Holding one up triumphantly, she grinned.  "Good to know work bartending skills are useful at home, too."  At his puzzled look, she elaborated.  "I work in the kitchen of the Bad Girl Bar and Grill.  I don't usually make drinks, but I fill in if we're really busy and Lorena, the regular bartender, is feeling swamped."  

"Sounds reasonable.  Shall I?"  He tapped the side of the bottle her hand was resting on, then waited while she filled each glass with the perfect combination of margarita ingredients.  When the microwave pinged its readiness, she pulled the plate out, peeled off the plastic wrap, and set it on a tray loaded with silverware, the now-frozen drinks and their bottles of origin, and the unwrapped Twinkie.

"C'mon, let's eat in the living room.  There's a Johnny Bravo marathon tonight!"  She shoved the tray into his hands and bounded into the living room ahead of him.  She jumped onto the futon to turn on the torch lights on either side, then pirouetted around to grin at him as he entered the room.  

"Nice, innit?  I love that I enjoy my job as much as I do and they still pay me enough to afford this.  Don't tell my boss, but I'd do the same work for half the money- it's a nice gig, and it's _never_ involved the wearing of spandex."

"Shove it."

"I could say something crude there, but I'll refrain."  She bounced from the futon onto the floor, then collapsed against the pillows on the futon.  "Sit down, eat your food."

"Geez...pushy hostess.  Do I get to fill out a comment card around here?  I'd like to offer some suggestions to the management."  He settled the tray onto the glass-top coffee table and sat down, then fell over backwards as she crawled along the futon and across him.

"**I** have a suggestion for **you**, mister.  Watch the TV, eat your food since you're sooo hungry, and then...we'll see."

Bobby gulped, then leaned over her for one of the margarita glasses.  After a fortifying gulp, he nodded slowly and fixed his eyes on the TV, where yet another woman had just shot Johnny Bravo down cold.  Rachel grinned, then turned her attention to the TV as well.


	2. Doing His Part To Help Education

Chapter 2

Dedicated to all the fanfiction.net authors and readers who expressed an interest in the original first chapter (this one's different, so if you skipped chapter 1, might want to go back and check it out), and to the patrons and staff of the Bad Girl Bar and Grill(it's a lot like the Subreality café, which is at http://www.subreality.com/ in case you didn't know.)  If the BGBG sounds fun to you, stop by!  We're at www.badgirlswirl.com, the site dedicated to Cameron Tuttle's Bad Girls' Guides.  I still don't own any Marvel types.  I own me, and in this chapter, that's all you need to know. 

Rachel rolled over onto her side and swore softly as the light from the bedroom window hit her full in the face.  Pressing her palms over her eyes, she rolled to a sitting position on the edge of the mattress and braced her elbows on her knees before rising to her feet.  After a few tentative steps to make sure her head wasn't going to fall off her shoulders and roll under the bed, she walked into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee brewing.  To the pinging of the coffeemaker, she pulled the cordless phone from its charger and carried it back to the bedroom with her, pausing for a moment to peer into the living room to confirm that Bobby was still out cold on the futon.  

"Marie?  Yeah, this is Rachel.  How'd things end up last night?  Yeah, well, just cause he's a priest **now** doesn't mean he's lived a monk's life...knowing what to do when a girl throws herself at you is kinda instinctive, and he *has* had some practice, y'know?  Uh-huh, I know it's cool.  Listen, is Clare around?  No?  Well, hell...Mary there?  Where IS everyone?  Nevermind...listen, I'll just call Clare's cell...she's always got the thing with her.  I need to talk to her right now, but I'll talk to you later and you can tell me all about it.  Yeah, try not to do anything you can be prosecuted for.  I don't think you really want to get an in-depth cultural anthropology perspective of the inside of the New York state prison system.  No, it would *not* be worth it.  Listen, I really have to go...but I will talk to you later, I promise!"  She hit the disconnect button and dropped the phone on the comforter piled at the foot of the bed, then opened the closet and stared in, hoping for inspiration.  Shaking her head, she pulled out a white oxford shirt and a pair of pale caramel brown corduroys.  She dropped the clothes on the footboard of the bed and picked the phone up, then hit a speed dial key.  While it rang, she picked through the contents of her lingerie drawer until she found a set she liked, which she tossed on top of the shirt.  As she settled onto the edge of the bed, the phone's ringing stopped and was replaced by a scrabbling sound and a resounding thud.  

"Mornin', Clare.  Sorry...I thought you might be up.  Oh.  Ohh...I see.  Well, I just thought I'd tell you that I have to stop by work to pick up my check, and then I'm going to be bringing Bobby by Fan HQ later so Sophie and Sara can get their autographs personally.  What?  No, nothing happened.  We watched some TV, drank some margaritas, and went to bed.  No, separate beds.  I was just about to go take a shower, then I'm gonna make some oatmeal and wake him up.  Nah...man can't hold his alcohol."  She snickered, then shrugged.  "Oh well, there's always another time.  I'll see you later, k?"  She disconnected and dropped the phone on the bedside table, then scooped up her clothes and headed for the shower.

A short while later, she emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam.  She stopped in the bathroom doorway and looked down the hall towards her room, then turned the other way and padded into the kitchen, hissing softly as her bare feet hit the cold tiles.

"Morning." The voice came from the kitchen table, hidden behind the high breakfast bar.  She crossed the room and leaned against the bar, standing on the tips of her toes to keep from touching the cold slate underfoot.

"Morning to you, too.  How'd you sleep?"

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it disordered and sticking up on one side.  "Alright, I guess...but there's this one really annoying bar on the futon, right..."

"Under the pillow? Yeah, sorry about that.  I meant to tell you, but...I forgot," she finished with a shrug.  "I'm sure you understand."

He grinned, then raised a coffee cup to his lips and smirked at her over the brim of it.  "Yeah, I just _bet_ you _forgot_."

She glared across the bar, then turned to get a cup of coffee, which she carried to the table.  "You drank the last margarita.  I had to get back at you somehow, didn't I?"  She sipped from the mug, then set it down on the table and laced her fingers to stretch, catlike, against the edge of the bar.  "So I have to go by work today and pick up my check, then we can stop by HQ...that ok with you?"

"Hey," Bobby shrugged his acquiescence, "**I'm** the kidnappee here...you obviously haven't done nearly enough of this kidnapping stuff."

"Not enough of it?"  She sank into the chair and stared at him, incredulous.

"Well, yeah.  And since I wouldn't want anyone saying I don't do my part for education...how about kidnapping me again on Friday?  You know, so you can learn from your mistakes last night."  He met her eyes and one sandy blonde brow rose in challenge.

"Who says I made any mistakes?  You're here, aren't you?  How about this- I'll pick you up on Friday and we'll do somethin' fun."  

"Do I get any hints?"

"Not a one.  You get to wonder for the next three days."


	3. Scheduling Conflicts and the BGBG

Chapter 3

Same ownership stuff as before.  I own me, Marvel owns Bobby, anyone mentioned as a staff member of the BGBG owns his or her-self, and any famous people mentioned herein are used COMPLETELY without permission.  Nah, nah, nah boo-boo!

Ahem.

Friday

"What do you _mean, I can't have the night off?  I thought Sean, Vamperella, Jason, and Kett were going to watch the kitchen for me tonight.  __Yes, it's a problem!  I had plans!  Ok, fine, I'll be in.  But I want tomorrow night off.  Uh-huh, ok, I'll see you in a little bit."  _

Rachel hit the power button on the phone and dropped it on the bathroom counter, then looked in the mirror and gave a short shriek of frustration.  "I go to rather...ok, _extremely unorthodox lengths to meet the man and get a date with him, and my job, which up till now has been the coolest, suddenly decides to remind me why it's called work and not play.  Only in my life do these things happen.  Oh well, it's done now...guess I get to call and beg a rescheduling.  Goddammit!"  _

She stomped from the room, then stomped back in to grab the phone.  Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she couldn't resist giggling.  "Ok, time to calm down.  He's just a guy.  An alarmingly attractive, excessively cool, **famous guy...but still just a guy.  And I'm not gonna know if he understands about scheduling conflicts till I call."  She stared at the blueberry-colored cordless in her hand.  "Yeah...that'll have to wait for a few."  **

She smoothed a strand of hair back into the ponytail she'd pulled her hair into before answering the phone, then walked into her bedroom and opened the closet.  Squinting inside, she pulled out a pair of shiny black pants, then held them in front of her and turned back and forth in front of the mirror.  "They'll do" was the verdict, and the pants were tossed onto the bed, soon to be joined by a long-sleeved black shirt with the red sequined letters "BGBG" on the front and rhinestones on the back spelling out "Staff".  She slipped the shirt over her head and tugged the V-neck until it sat comfortably across her chest, then sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on the pants.  She stood and stretched, then looked in the mirror and gave herself an approving wink.  

"Ok...now, time to call."  She glared at the phone, then seized it off the bed and carried it to the kitchen and her phone message board.  "220..555...9945.  Pick up, pick up, pick up!  Um, yes, hello...is Bobby there?  This is Rachel.  Thanks."  She tapped a sock-covered toe as she waited for the message to be passed.  "Hey, it's Rachel...listen, I hate to do this, but I just found out I have to work.  Want to reschedule?  Um...no, not really.  Are you sure?  You're **that bored?  No, no, it's fun there, and it's not something anyone'll have a problem with...just not used to having people want to come help me out at work.  Aha- so you have ulterior motives!"  She grinned as she listened to the voice on the other end.  "Yeah, yeah...so do you want me to come pick you up, or do you just want to meet me there?  I wouldn't have offered to if it was going to be a problem.  Great, I'll be there in...30 minutes.  Wear something you don't mind getting a bit dirty in. K, I'll see you soon!"  **

She hit the off button on the phone and giggled.  "We'll...that was certainly interesting.  And tonight's gonna be even more so.  Ok. Time to find my boots." She leaned into the closet, peering at the floor.  "Here, boots, come out, come out, wherever you are...HA!  She pulled out a black ankle boot and tossed it towards the door, then dug around for a moment until she located its mate.  She sank to the floor and pulled them on, then zipped the sides.  Grabbing keys and a small purse, she raced out the door to the car.

25 minutes later, in Westchester

Bobby was sitting on the front steps when she drove up.  He spotted her and jumped up, a broad grin on his face.  She put the car into park and stood up in her seat, grinning back at him across the top of the windshield.  "Ready to be put to work?"  She leaned over and pushed the passenger side door open, then sat back down as he climbed in.  "Before we leave, though- do you have your library card?"

"My **library card?"  One eyebrow edged up past his bangs, which had fallen into his face.  He pushed them back and continued staring at her.**

"Yes, your library card.  It's a condition for entry- you have to be literate.  Weeds out some of the morons.  Not, unfortunately, all of them...but a significant portion."  She sighed, then grinned as he pulled out his wallet and produced a nearly-new bit of plastic.  "Wow...good to know you use it so often."

"We've got a big library right here, in the mansion.  Now, are we going to sit in my driveway all day, or are we gonna go to this bar?"

"And you call _me pushy..." she backed the car up and turned down the winding driveway.  "Nice digs, by the way.  Didn't get a chance to really admire them last time I was here."_

"When we get back, I'll give you the tour, if you want."

"I want!"

"Alright then...now, how about you tell me what I've offered to help with.  It's been really boring around here recently...and I think Kate's going to kill someone soon, so it seemed like a good idea to get out for a while."

"Sensible..." She began telling him about what was expected from the kitchen staff at the bar (admittedly, not much,) then moved on to a description of the bar in general, which carried on until they arrived in the employee lot behind the bar.  She parked along the back wall, then hopped out and opened the tiny trunk to pull out a box of cd's with labels scribbled onto them.  She shifted the box around on her hip until it was positioned comfortably for carrying, then headed for the open back door.  Once inside, she turned to the right, into a tiny office where she dropped the box on a desk.  She backed out of the room and turned back towards the hallway.  "Sorry, had to leave those for the DJ.  The kitchen's this way."  She led him down the hall, passing a series of offices, then stopped at one.  She tugged keys from her purse and unlocked the door, then pushed it open and gestured for him to enter.  "If you wanna leave your jacket in here, you can.  It'll be locked till quitting time."  She stowed her purse and coat on a rack beside the desk at the back of the room, then clipped her keys to a belt loop and smoothed her shirt down over her hips.  She turned to look at him and had to repress a giggle.  "Nice shirt...really.  Niiice shirt.  Sure you want to risk getting flour and oil all over such a...relic?"

"Hey, Duran Duran concert shirts have gone beyond relic.  They're cool again.  Ironic kitsch and all that."

"Riiiight.  Who gave you that explanation?"

"That'd be Jubilee."

"Alright...I'll consider accepting it.  Tell me, is she really as..." she searched for a way to ask her question diplomatically.

"As annoying as they make her seem in our publicity materials and her interviews?  Nah, she's alright.  A little enthusiastic, but hey...she's 15.  It's to be expected."

"I see.  Hey, you should bring her around here.  I think she'd like it."

"But she's only 15...and this is a bar.  Wouldn't she have to be at least 18?"

"Not this bar.  We accept just about anyone over 13(AN- the age you have to be to sign up for most internet message boards under COPA, the Children's Online Privacy Act)...and guys and girls are equally welcome, as long as they're respectful of everyone else- no name-calling.  It's one of the three rules."

"What are the other two?"

"No male-bashing- it can be a bit of a problem sometimes with some people who can't seem to separate ya'll into individuals and can't seem to recognize that just cause one guy did something, all guys won't necessarily do the same- and, as the girl who actually started the bar itself says, "We've got a five-dollar fine for whining."  And that's it.  Just those three rules once you're in.  Now, to get in, past Leighchristine, you have to have your library card.  I already explained that, right?" 

"Yeah, you did.  Any other interesting bits of information you feel like telling me about?"

"Hmm...well, it's never hurt anyone to compliment Leigh on her clothes.  That's simple, though.  They're almost always black and Gucci."

"Your bouncer frequently wears black Gucci?"

She grinned.  "Yeah.  She's also 5'3"."

"How is she a bouncer again?"

"Everyone respects her.  And if she's pissed off, watch out.  She could insult... John Wayne...no, **Logan to tears." **

"I'd pay to see that."

"Wouldn't we all?  Just for the entertainment and possible blackmail value of such an experience.  Anyway, we should get to the kitchen.  I'm sure Sean's already going crazy."

"Sean?"

"My assistant.  He's a good kid.  He'll be glad to see another guy in the kitchen...it's generally an estrogen-fueled dictatorship back here."

"An estrogen-fueled dictatorship...you certainly have an interesting way of describing things."

"It's called the way they are.  You'll get used to it."  She stepped over a box of recipe cards on the floor and out into the hallway, then waited for him to step through the door so she could shut and lock it.  As they entered the kitchen, a tall blonde was leaning halfway across the stove, attempting to stir 3 bubbling pots at once.  She sighed and pulled a pair of aprons from hooks beside the door- a full-length apron for Bobby, a half-apron for herself.  After tying her own apron on and checking to make sure Bobby's was tied well enough to stay on, she pushed the man at the stove away and stirred two of the pots.

"Afternoon, Sean.  This," she gestured with an elbow, "Is Bobby.  He's apparently a bit of a masochist, and when I had to cancel our plans for the evening, he decided he wanted to come help out."

Sean stopped stirring his pot long enough to wipe a hand on his apron and offer it to Bobby.  "Nice ta meet ya.  Damn, I'm glad you're here...I thought I was gonna go stark raving mad.  There's already a line out the door, and Leigh-Christine and Lindsay aren't even here yet."  He listened as the shriek of tires in the parking lot echoed down the hall.  "Ok, scratch that, they're here."  

There was a brief flurry of motion at the end of the hallway as two women raced in, unwrapping Hermes scarves from their hair and smoothing the car-ride wrinkles from their outfits.  They stowed their things in an office and raced out to the dining area and dance floor to take up their positions for the beginning of the weekend rush.

"Ok, now, you told me who Leigh-Christine is, but who's Lindsay?  I mean, what does she do?"  Bobby was perplexed, and he fully expected he'd be getting even more so before the end of the night.  

"Lindsay's the entertainment booker.  She finds us all our bands, and she finds us dancers.  She also finds us hockey players."

"_Hockey players?  This sounds like a story." _

"It's a bit of one...how about if I tell it to you while we make a batch of the kitchen specialty?"  She headed to an empty counter and began pulling out containers from the freezer underneath.  "Grab that bag of chocolate chips, will ya?"

Bobby looked around where he was standing.  "Ok.  Chocolate chips....where are...oh, thanks."  Sean lowered the offered bag into his arms.  "Wow.  This is a hell of a bag."

"Yeah it is.  The customers really like her cookies."

"Course they do," Rachel yelled across the room.  "They're the best.  Or at least the biggest."

Bobby carried the bag across the aisle and down to the counter where she'd set out her ingredients and dropped it beside a giant plastic box full of flour.  "What's so special about the cookies?  And why do you need hockey players?"

"Well, the cookies are giant.  Head-sized, in fact.  That's how they're listed on the menu- 'Head-sized chocolate chip cookies, with your choice of homemade ice cream.'  They're our most popular dish.  And we don't need hockey players at all.  Lindsay just happens to find them...one in particular.  PJ Stock."

"Wait a minute...you mean the guy who's on the Boston Bruins?  Formerly a New York Ranger?"

"The very one.  Can you pass the brown sugar?"  

He passed the indicated canister, then continued gaping at her.  "You gotta introduce me.  Sam'll never believe this."

"He'll probably be in later tonight.  I'll take you out front to meet people after it's calmed down some.  Now will you quit looking at me and stir this?  I'm too short to get a good angle for it."  She pressed a heavy wooden spoon into his hand and padded off towards the immense coolers along the hallway.  When she returned, she was carrying an oversized basket, full of frozen berries, yogurt, and juice.  She set the basket on a counter and pulled a blender out from its place against the wall, then dumped in two liberal handfuls of berries.  She topped them with a few spoonsful of yogurt and a splash of juice, then plopped the blender lid on and mixed all the ingredients.  She poured the resulting semi-frozen slush into two cups, which she covered and set inside the nearest cooler.  After carrying the blender to the dishroom, she pressed a button on the intercom.  "Hey, can you send Sean..."

"What about me?"  Asked her assistant, pushing through the doors with an empty cookie tray.

"Not you, Laura's Sean...whatsisname...the one with the name like a male Bond Girl."

"Biggerstaff?"

"Exactly!  Anyway," she turned back to the intercom, "send him back here when they get in.  I've got her smoothies ready."  She turned the intercom off, then walked back to where Bobby was still dutifully stirring the cookie dough.  "She's a bit of a self-confessed addict.  I can think of worse things to be addicted to than fruit and yogurt.  Speaking of addictions...want to tell me why you've got a smudge of chocolate on the side of your mouth?"

"Nuh-uh."  He spoke without opening his mouth more than a fraction of an inch.  She rolled her eyes and grinned.  

"Loser.  You're supposed to eat the cookies after they're baked, not before."  She stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, right where a chocolate chip had left the giveaway smudge.  She stepped back and looked at him, then smoothed a thumb over the spot and walked off, a wide grin on her face. 


	4. Yeah, Well, I Own Starbucks!

Chapter 4

Rachel looked around the kitchen.  "Now, **where** did I put that?  Oh, dammit, I bet it's still in the car.  Hey Bobby?"

He looked up from the cake he was frosting.  "Yes?"

"Can you run out to the car and get the box that's in the back of the trunk?  It's got some stuff I wanted to use for this, but I forgot to bring it in.  Here," she tossed him her keys.  "Just don't let the back door close or it'll lock and you'll have to go around- it's impossible to hear people knocking on it over the sound from the bar."  He nodded and headed off down the hall.

He stepped out into the cool night air and breathed deeply.  He could faintly hear the yells of people who were out on the lake or sitting in the rocking chairs of the bar's lakeside veranda.  Since it hadn't looked like Rachel needed the stuff from her car immediately, he walked around the back of the building to the side to get a better look at the lake and boats.  It looked like there was one guy in charge of all the rental boats, and he seemed to be a friend of everyone who came outside.  Bobby faintly remembered Rachel mentioning something about a guy named Matt who was on the staff...he figured that was who this was.  As he watched, Matt helped someone out of a boat that had just bumped up against the dock, then gave the person a huge hug.  Bobby watched for a few minutes, and in that time he saw Matt give and get at least three more hugs, although the last couple of recipients looked a bit alarmed at the forced affection.  

"Man, what I wouldn't give for a job like that..."  He turned to go back to the car, then scowled and cursed softly as the door, which he had left open but not propped, clicked shut under a fairly strong breeze.

"Ok, Drake, that was obviously not a good thing.  But I've got my library card, so they should let me in the front door..._right?"  He unlocked the trunk and pulled out the box he'd been sent for- a small box no larger than a videotape.  He shook it gently and heard a dull thump against the sides, then shrugged and headed around the side of the building opposite the lake, pausing for a moment to admire the cherry red Porsche Carerra in front of Rachel's car._

 When he rounded the front of the bar, he was surprised to see a long line, wrapping through a maze of velvet ropes to the door.  Sighing, he joined the end of the line and waited patiently for it to snake up through the door.  There was a girl ahead of him in the line who looked to be 12 at the oldest, and when they reached the front, the bouncer(he assumed she was Leigh from the tiny glimpse he'd gotten of her when she came in- the red hair and black outfit seemed to confirm the theory) propped a booted foot on the doorframe and shook her head.

"How many times am I going to have to tell you that you're not welcome here?  You're dishonest, you exaggerate, and you're not old enough anyway!"

The girl pushed at Leigh's foot and tried to knock it out of her way.  "Do you know who I am?  Do you **know who I ****am?  I own Starbucks!  I could call all my friends and pay them to come fill the parking spaces of your bar so there wouldn't be any space for people who want to come here!"  She continued shrieking bizarre and outlandish threats as a woman in a face-obscuring hoodie physically lifted her and carried her off, back toward the parking lot and the car where her mother was waiting to take her back home.  He could hear the girl's complaints for a good 5 minutes after she left, and the comments from people around him in line for at least 10 minutes after that.  **

When he got to the front of the line, he pulled out his library card and handed it over.  Leigh scrutinized it carefully, then returned it to him and waved him through.  He squeezed past the crowd that had collected at the door, then stopped to stare at the bar in amusement.  There was a brown haired girl on the bartop, and she was singing along to Joan Jett's "Bad Reputation".  She'd just stolen someone's feather boa to supplement her jeans and tank top, and as he watched, she trailed the end of the boa around the neck of a blonde man leaning against the bar and smiling up at her.  She grabbed the man's hand and pulled him up onto the bar with her, then tossed the boa back to its owner, a tiaraed girl in a Rainbow Brite t-shirt, all to wild applause from the other waiting customers.  Bobby squinted...was that Legolas from Lord of the Rings?  Hank and Scott were going to have to come by some time soon...and Jean, too.  She'd raved for _days about how pretty the elves were.  _

He pushed away from the chair he'd been leaning on and headed for the swinging door between the DJ booth and the bar.  As he passed, a girl leaned over the edge and yelled something.

"Huh?"

"I said," she yelled, "Before you go back there, can you get Lorena to fix me a Red Devil?"

"Lorena?"

"The bartender!"  The DJ turned and hit a button, cutting off "Bad Reputation" and starting the Groove Armada song "I See You Baby."  A new crowd of bartop dancers jumped up, receiving more applause from the spectators.

"Oh, right...uh, yeah, sure.  Be right back."  He turned to the bar and leaned over it until the mildly harried bartender leaned towards him.  

"What can I get ya?"

"Umm...the girl in the booth wants a Red Devil.  She sent me to get it."

"You mean Cali?"  

He shrugged in response.  "I guess...all I know is she sent me here."

"Ok, just stay there for a minute."  She gathered all the required bottles and a glass, then measured and mixed the contents of the bottles until the drink was to her satisfaction.  She slid it across the bar, then turned to the other person behind the bar, a sullen preteen boy.  "Chocha!  Didn't I tell you to take that tray of drinks to the tattooing room?  Ms.C's getting her star done today, and she may _need that bottle of Stoli!"_

"Oh,..."  The boy grumbled something that was likely obscene under his breath, but it didn't matter because she'd stopped paying attention to him anyway.  He picked up the bottle and slowly carried it back to a back room of the club, grumbling all the way.  

Bobby carried the nearly overfilled drink back across to the DJ booth and passed it over the wall.  He was rewarded with a smile and a promise of "any song you wanna hear, when you all come out from the kitchen."  He grinned and gave her a thumbs-up, then walked through the kitchen door.  


	5. The BGBG Experience

Chapter 5

~6 hours later(12:00 AM)~

Rachel sagged against the countertop and let out a tired sigh.  It had been an exceptionally busy night, and she felt like she'd made enough cookies to feed the people of several small nations.  Sean had been busy carrying the still-warm cookies out to the bar patrons and the empty trays back into the kitchen, and in his absence, Bobby had been a huge help.  She looked over at him and grinned.  He was in a similar position, leaning against the prep table in the middle of the kitchen, his head tilted back and his eyes closed.  She pushed away from her counter to join him at his.

"How ya doin'?" 

He tilted his head to the side just enough to look at her through one barely-open eyelid.  "My arms are going to fall off."

"Would a drink make them feel better?"

"It might.  Emphasis on might."

"Well then, dust the flour off your ass," she laughed as he stood up, looked, and scowled, "and follow me."  Bobby followed her to the door of her office and waited while she bustled around inside, presumably making herself more presentable.  He looked down at himself and winced.  The Duran Duran shirt, which had started the night reasonably clean, was still, despite his best efforts to remove it, liberally dusted with cookie flour, more of which covered his olive green cargo pants.

"Are you usually done at 12?"  He addressed the door, which hadn't seemed substantial enough to be soundproof.

"Yeah, about then...at 11:30 we stop taking food orders.  It's nice...means I can still go out there and have some fun.  Of course, it's better when I get to come in on a night when I'm off and play while everyone's here."

"You come in to work when you're off?"  Bobby stared incredulously at the sticker-covered door.

"Well, yeah...how else would I get to make sure I'm not missing anything cool on my off-nights?"  Her tone made it seem as if it as if it were the most sensible thing in the world to come to work for fun.  Honestly, Bobby couldn't fault the logic.  If the place was like it had been earlier every night, she probably **would** miss things if she didn't come in for a few days.  

While he was contemplating that, she pulled the door open and stepped out into the hall, then turned to pull the door closed.  The lock gave an audible click as it caught, and she turned back to him with a wide grin, ponytail bobbing with the motion.  A strand of hair fell from its confinement and drifted across her face, causing her to roll her eyes and scowl momentarily before tucking it behind her ear.  

"Knew it wouldn't stay...it never does.  Oh well, shall we go?"  She grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall towards the bar. Bobby followed quietly- the combination of body-hugging jeans and an equally fitted tank top was one he'd never been able to resist...not that he'd ever been that bothered about trying.

As they headed towards the kitchen door, the sound of buzzing guitars grew louder, and was gradually joined by the sound of drums.  They passed through the door and were met with a near-palpable wave of sound from the speakers.  The DJ, Cali(he gave himself a mental pat on the back for remembering the name), leaned over the edge of her elevated booth to yell a hello to both of them.  Rachel waved and smiled, then turned back to the bar, which was currently empty of any dancers.  

"Hey, Lorena...can I get a VB?"  She turned to Bobby.  "You want anything?"  He reached back to pull his wallet out, and she waved him off.  "Don't worry about it, it's on the house.  Least we can do for free kitchen help."  She grinned as she leaned across the bar to grab the beer Lorena was offering.  

"Uh...I'll take a Rolling Rock, if you've got it."  He leaned against the bar and looked around the room, then started in surprise as the chilled beer slid across the bar and bumped his bare arm.  He grabbed it and yelled thanks to the bartender, who had already moved to fill another drink order.

The song came to a close, and another began with an audible click.  Rachel hooked a finger into the sleeve of his shirt and tugged lightly, then released him and headed towards a table set back in a recessed alcove.  She set her beer down on the table, then, with a little hop, perched on the edge of one of the tall chairs and beamed at him. 

"Isn't this fun?"  He was surprised at how clearly he could hear her.  With the loud music and even louder bar patrons, he'd expected a minimum of conversation for the rest of the evening.  

"Yeah, it is.  How'd they make it so quiet in here?"  He turned and peered at the wall behind his shoulder, then gave it a tap.  The colored foam covering the wall compressed, then expanded as he moved his finger away.  He turned back to her and raised an eyebrow.  "That doesn't seem very bar-appropriate somehow."

"Yeah, but it keeps the noise complaints from our neighbors down...and in the rare instances there've been full-blown bar fights, it's probably stopped some nasty bruises."

"Infinitely practical.  So tell me, is there any song they won't dance to?"  He leaned over to get a better view of the bartop, where an impromptu "Walk Like an Egyptian" contest had sprung up in response to the Bangles song pouring from the speakers.  

"Barney."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, we haven't actually tested it, but there's a theory floating around that the Barney theme song is un-danceable."

"Who knows the song to be able to make that determination?  I can't imagine that Barney's exactly top of anyone's must-rent list here."  He peeled a sticker from the corner of the table, then flicked ineffectively at the tattered paper stuck to his hand.  

"Well, we do have a few mothers of toddlers around- they were consulted for their expert opinions on the matter, and they agree- it's totally hopeless if you're over the age of four."  The DJ had put a new song, slowing the music enough for the dancers to take a brief rest.  Bobby listened briefly, then started in surprise at the lyrics.  

"When, exactly, did Big Yellow Taxi become bar music?  And what, exactly, do you think you're doing over there?"

"Me?  I'm singing along to the inappropriate music. It beats criticizing it, don't ya think?"  She raised an eyebrow and held her beer bottle like a microphone, warbling along with the song until he leaned across the table and pulled the beer from her hand.  

"What, pray tell, is this that you're drinking?"

"Australian beer...Victoria Bitter.  I spent six months there when I was younger, and developed a taste for it.  That's also where I learned my sketchy-at-best bartending skills."  She leaned over the table to retrieve her beer, taking a sip as she sank back into the seat behind her.

"And what, may I ask, is up with the bottle?  Why's it shaped so funny?"  He squinted doubtfully at the bottle in question.  

"It's called a stubby- most of the beer I saw there came in stubbies.  Cans aren't as popular as they are here...And no wonder.  Beer in bottles is heaps better anyway.  Has anyone ever told you that you ask too many questions?" 

"Many times.  It didn't work then, either."  He grinned across the table at her and gave her a disapproving look when she stuck her tongue out at him.  

The relative calm of the bar was suddenly shattered by a triumphant whoop from one of the tables scattered around the periphery of the room.  A woman with long, blonde-highlighted hair waved a small notebook in the air and announced jubilantly, "I've solved the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle!"  

From across the bar, someone yelled, "That's great, Deb, but what the hell does it mean?"

"It means, soon we'll be transporting everywhere instead of driving or flying- how cool is that?"  She straightened from her table and adjusted the low neck of her red backless shirt before crossing the dance floor to the end of the bar closest to the DJ booth.  "Can I get a Bad Girl cocktail?   And Cali," she turned and looked up at the girl behind the fabric-covered half wall, "can I hear "Hard to Handle" by the Black Crows?  As a celebration, you know?"

"Absolutely.  I'll put it on as soon as this one's over." Cali punched a few buttons on the console in front of her and grabbed the glass balanced precariously on the wall, then opened a door in the wall of the booth, stepped down onto the raised stage area, and hopped down again, this time onto the dance floor as the initial chords of the new song started.  She crossed the room and settled herself into a chair at Rachel and Bobby's table before tipping the glass and finishing most of the contents.  She lowered the glass and regarded Bobby over the rim.  "You havin' fun tonight?  I'm Cali, by the way- since we haven't been officially introduced." 

"I'm Bobby, and absolutely, I'm having a great time...although my arms hurt worse than they do after a major workout."  He flexed experimentally and winced.  "I'm gonna be in some serious pain tomorrow.  I can tell."

"Hey, I resent the implication that working the kitchen here _isn't_ a major workout...it is!"  Rachel leaned towards the other girl and gestured at the bar, where Deb had been coaxed into dancing on the bar with a few other patrons.  "Is Colin here tonight?  I think his presence up there would add immeasurably to the celebration, don't you?"

"You're right, it would...but I think he had that premier to go to tonight..."  Cali shrugged and spread her hands apart in a "what can you do" gesture.  

"That's too bad- I'm assuming if Colin had to be there, Oliver's probably also out for the night.  I was **so** looking forward to hearing "Get Up Offa That Thing"...figures."

"Well, I do have the original James Brown version...if you want, I can put that on after this sequence ends."

Another voice spoke up behind them, and they all whirled towards the speaker, a twentysomething guy with spiky dark hair, olive skin, and a battered electric guitar case slung across his back. "And why'd you wanna do that, when I'm here? Ye of little faith...like we'd let a premier get in the way of time spent at our favorite venue, with our favorite fans?  Colin'll be in in a bit.  Or now..." he trailed off as the man in question squeezed past a crowd gathered in the doorway.  "'Ey Colin, get up there!  Deb's celebrating something...what I don't know, but does it matter?"  He grinned as the other man rolled his eyes and shoved a library card into the back pocket of his well-worn leather pants before climbing up to join the dancers on the bar.  The rhinestones edging the waistband of Deb's low-riding black pants glimmered under the beams from the multicolored overhead lights as she strutted along the bar towards him.  Rachel clapped and drew their attention back to the immediate group around the table.

"So, now you're here, you can sing for us...right?"  She grinned and batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated movement, then slung an arm around his shoulder before gesturing across the table.  "This, by the way, is Bobby.  Bobby, this is Oliver."  The two shook hands and exchanged noncommittal greetings as the song faded from the air, only to be replaced by the opening lines of Willa Ford's "I Wanna Be Bad."  Extricating her arm from Oliver's shoulder, Rachel looked across the table.  "So, Bobby...do you dance?"

"Only when there's an incentive.  Is there?"  He regarded her calmly across the table, and neither of them took much notice when the other two at the table slipped away to the stage area, where Oliver's band had set up their equipment.  She slid down from her perch and moved around the back of the table to his chair, where she braced a hand on the table and leaned up to speak directly into his ear.  

"How's this for incentive...if you'll come dance with me, I'll consider investigating whether or not I was hallucinating earlier."  She brushed a hand along the side of his face and pressed a kiss to the edge of his jawbone.  

"If I may ask, what do you think you were hallucinating?"  He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her up onto the chair with him.

"Hmm.  Alpha-male dominance move there.  Not entirely sure how I feel about that.  At any rate, I could swear I saw penguins on your boxers.  I think this merits further investigation...but not here.  I *do* have to come back here to work, and a parade of mixed congratulations and condemnation wouldn't exactly leave that much time for work to get done.  Mmm...keep that up, it's quite pleasant," she purred in appreciation as he traced patterns on the thin cotton of her tank top, then sat back as a tap on the microphone pulsed through the speakers.  "So, what d'ya say?  Think you've got incentive enough to dance?"  She leaned across his lap, grabbed the far edge of the table, and pulled herself across his lap until she could swing her legs down to the carpet that edged the dance floor.  "Cause I'm going out there now, and you can follow, or not..." She trailed a hand across his chest as she walked towards the stage area, and he sat and watched her cross the room.  She exchanged a comment with Oliver, then burst into laughter at whatever had been said.  Bobby wondered briefly if there was anything going on there, and wished, not for the first time, that he had some scrap of telepathic ability.  She turned and caught his eye, and waved him toward the stage while raising an eyebrow questioningly.  He slid out of his chair and complied with her request.  


End file.
